


TLC

by lavvyan



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, International Fanworks Day 2018, M/M, Pre-Slash, Steve McGarrett Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-19 04:57:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13697325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavvyan/pseuds/lavvyan
Summary: "What's wrong, buddy?" Danny asked, all soft concern. He gently pushed Charlie's fine blond hair away from his forehead in a move Steve had watched countless times over the past six years. It was a move designed both to comfort and to check for elevated temperature, and every damn time, Steve felt that pang of helpless envy. And how fucked up was that?Steve desperately needs some comfort, but has no idea how to ask for it. Lucky for him, he doesn't need to.





	TLC

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Любовь и забота](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15117050) by [cicada](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cicada/pseuds/cicada)



> Taking a break from the WIP of Doom because omfg why did I even start that. 
> 
> Anyway. Have some quick h/c fluff because while I can't have comfort, Steve totally can. Also, I'm a sucker for Danny taking care of Steve. 
> 
> No beta, alas.

Steve loved Grace from the moment he met her. He might even have loved her a little before that: for the soft smiles she put on Danny's face, for being the reason Danny moved to Hawaii, for the utter devotion that shone from Danny like a lighthouse beacon that had been specifically designed to draw Steve in. 

In a friendship way, of course. He'd never had many friends after he'd left (been sent away from) the island, pulled too far into himself to reach out. With Danny? Steve didn't have to reach out. Once Danny had decided that Steve was worth the effort, he'd barged in and made himself at home, all the while complaining about how Steve was taking over his life. 

But Grace, Grace was such a great kid. Smart and sweet and so happy to see her father, every single time. And she'd taken a liking to Steve as well, which meant that Steve was roped into their leisure activities and got to show off the island as part of his campaign to make Danny call it "home," even just once. Every day, preferably, but Steve would take what he could get. 

Today, though, Grace had been mostly quiet. Still sweet, still happy, but increasingly subdued somehow as the three of them played in the waves behind Steve's house. Steve could see that Danny was growing concerned as well, had probably been concerned before Steve had noticed anything was amiss, but before either of them could ask what was wrong, Grace huffed out a quiet little sigh, turned to Danny, and said, in a small voice, "Danno, I don't feel so good."

Then she threw up. 

"Aw, Monkey." Danny immediately bundled her up, an expression of soft sympathy on his face. "You caught that stomach bug after all."

And because Steve loved Grace, he was entirely unprepared for the dull spike of... of _something_ , something faintly hard and bitter that hit his own stomach like a dirty rock. 

"I'm sorry," Grace was saying, so miserable that Steve's heart went out to her. 

"Hey, it's okay, Gracie," he said, trying to make her smile, "the fish will be glad for the food."

Grace did manage a faint smile. Danny, with Grace in his arms, gave Steve a Look that said while Steve might think he was being funny, Danny did not agree in the slightest. Steve pulled a face and shrugged. What did he know about sick children?

"Look, why don't you lay her down in the guest room for a while?" he offered. It was the only thing he could think of that might be helpful. "Wait until the worst is over before you take her home?"

Because in his experience, stomach bugs that made you throw up once would probably make you throw up another few times before the hour was up. 

"I have tea," he added, like that might sway Danny. 

Apparently, it did. 

"All right," Danny said, turning around to walk briskly towards the house. "What do you say, Monkey? Want to have a tea party in Uncle Steve's guest room?"

Uncle Steve. For a moment, Steve had to close his eyes. 

"Yeah," he heard Grace say. "Will Uncle Steve come, too?"

"Will Uncle Steve come?" Danny scoffed playfully. "Of course he'll come, what do you think, huh? What kind question is that? It's his tea."

Grace let out a tired giggle and Steve thought, _of course he'll come,_ and for the first time since leaving the Navy, wondered if he might be in over his head. 

He pushed the thought aside and trotted up the beach and through the grass, picking up their towels as he went. He got Danny and Grace settled into the guest room, made the tea, provided a bucket for Grace to throw up into, and spent the rest of the day watching Danny care for his daughter. 

It took four months and Grace looking up wide-eyed at Danny over a skinned knee as Danny fussed over her, for Steve to figure out that the _something_ he'd been feeling that day on the beach was envy. 

~~~

"Danno, I don't feel so good." A little boy's voice this time, and Steve idly wondered if Grace had taught Charlie to say that. If Grace had sat him down and told him that those were the words that would get Danny's immediate attention, care, and so much damn soothing of tears and stroking of sweaty foreheads that Steve sometimes thought that for Danny? The rest of the world had to fade into complete insignificance the moment a child of his fell sick. 

Danny did the same, to a lesser degree, with the children they came across on their cases. He did it with distraught witnesses and confused bystanders and people who'd just lost a loved one.

He'd _started_ to do it with Steve, once, except Steve had been too focused on his father's murder and getting the toolbox out of the garage to register what he was refusing. 

If someone ever invented time travel, Steve would have no choice but to go back to his past self and kick him for it. 

"What's wrong, buddy?" Danny asked, all soft concern. He gently pushed Charlie's fine blond hair away from his forehead in a move Steve had watched countless times over the past six years. It was a move designed both to comfort and to check for elevated temperature, and every damn time, Steve felt that pang of helpless envy. And how fucked up was that?

"My throat hurts," Charlie said plaintively, and now that he'd said it, Steve could hear the scratchiness in his voice. 

"My poor boy," Danny said, now running his fingers through Charlie's hair. "Let me see, come on, open your mouth."

Charlie did, and Danny recoiled in mock terror. 

"What, what is this, you want to eat me? Is that it? No, open up, let me see what's in store for me." 

Charlie was grinning now, keeping his mouth open as best he could as Danny peered inside. 

"Wow," Danny marveled, voice hushed, "you've got rocks in your mouth. What, those are your teeth? Are you sure? I'm not sure. Better close that mouth before there's a rock slide in there." In a more normal tone, he added, "Your throat's a little red. Does anything else hurt?"

"No." 

Danny hummed. "You know what's great when you've got a sore throat? Tea with honey." He looked over his shoulder at Steve. "I bet Uncle Steve could rustle up some for you."

Steve nodded and smiled his sympathy at Charlie. "Hang in there, buddy. I'll be right back."

It should probably feel strange. There were at Danny's house, yet Steve was expected to know where everything was: the kitchen, the tea, the honey. He _did_ know where everything was. He knew how long the water should go into the microwave so it would be hot but not boiling. He knew how much honey to put into the tea to help a kid's sore throat. He even knew that in a few minutes, whether Danny asked him to or not, he'd make a run to get some popsicles in case the tea didn't help. 

It should feel strange, shouldn't it?

But it didn't. It felt like being here, helping Danny take care of his children, was the most natural thing Steve could possibly do. And so he made the tea, brought it to Charlie's room (it could do with a renovation, couldn't it?) and watched the two Williamses for a moment before he went out again, both to get those popsicles and to distract himself from his own, confused want.

~~~

Was it because his mom had never been the nurturing type to begin with? His dad had been mostly absent during Steve's childhood, except for weekends and holidays, and not even been there for all of those. His mom really would have been the one to fuss over her kids when they were sick, but she hadn't. She'd provided cough drops and dry toast and anything they could have needed, but she'd never sat beside them to read a story or hummed quietly while she stroked their hair. She gave them stuff, not attention. 

Or was it the way his father had sent them away when they'd needed him most, splitting them up so they didn't even have each other? Was it the way Steve had finished his growing up in Annapolis, in an environment where sickness meant weakness, and weakness was something he could never show?

Was he just naturally this pathetic?

~~~

Then came the trek through the jungle and the bomb and, a few weeks after that, the radiation sickness. Steve had had to tell Danny about that last one, eventually, but he'd also told him not to worry. No matter what lay down the road, for the near future, given a little time, this whole episode would be over and Steve would be okay. He'd be fine.

That didn't mean that right now, he didn't feel like crap. 

He'd been having dizzy spells for a while now, and those were bad enough. But the real evil was the nausea. It was pervasive, all-encompassing, a constant sense of _sickness_ that Steve couldn't ignore. That made it impossible to keep down food or even water. That made him breathe through his nose because the moment he smelled something, anything, he'd throw up. Again. 

And now Danny was standing in his doorway, having let himself in the way he always did, blithely invading Steve's space even though it was the weekend and one of the few days they didn't have to spend with each other. 

Maybe it was because Steve hadn't eaten all day. Maybe it was the worry written all over Danny's pale face.

Maybe Steve was just tired. 

Whatever it was, it seemed to switch off his higher brain functions, because when his mouth opened to answer Danny's unspoken question, what came out was, "I don't feel so good."

And then he pressed his face into his pillow because god, could he _be_ any more pitiful if he tried? At least he hadn't said 'Danno.' Score one for Steve, slightly less needy than a child. Looked like that SEAL training was good for something after all. 

The silence stretched. It stretched so long that Steve began to wonder if he'd imagined Danny. He rolled his head so he could peek, one-eyed, towards the doorway. 

Danny was still standing there, one arm resting against the doorjamb. He wore a speculative expression on his face. Steve's gut tightened in a way that had nothing to do with the nausea. 

"Sorry," he said nonsensically, and that at least was enough to make Danny roll his eyes, bring a little normalcy back into the room. 

"Sorry for what, huh? Sorry for getting radiation poisoning? Sorry for not telling me about it?" Danny stepped away from the door and towards Steve's bed. "Or sorry for suffering alone like an idiot?" 

The words were snappish, but his voice was soft as he leaned down to brush a hand across Steve's clammy forehead. Steve _ached._

"I don't know," he mumbled into the pillow, "pick one."

"Just one?" Danny asked. His thumb was rubbing along Steve's temple. 

Steve swallowed. 

"Feeling nauseous again?" Danny's hand felt like a brand against Steve's skin. Steve breathed carefully into the pillow and nodded. "Don't you have any meds for that?"

Steve swallowed again. His mouth was dry. "Can't keep them down," he croaked, sounding miserable even to his own ears. Christ, he was such a... such a...

He didn't know what he was, because Danny was running gentle fingers through Steve's short hair. It felt so fucking good that Steve's pride just... shorted out. Went poof. Disappeared. He sighed into the pillow and closed his eyes, let himself take the comfort Danny was offering him. 

"Where do you keep them?" Danny asked quietly. Steve's muscles felt like they might puddle right into the bed. 

"Kitchen." Bile was rising. Steve swallowed it down. "Counter."

"Okay." Danny let his hand trail down the back of Steve's neck and squeezed lightly. "Be right back." 

And then he was gone, and Steve could have wept. He kept breathing into the pillow instead, in and out, slow and careful, keeping the nausea and the absurd feeling of abandonment at bay. 

Danny returned a moment later, carrying a glass filled with a small amount of water. Tiny bits of crushed pill were swirling around in it. He crouched beside the bed and held the glass out to Steve. 

"Barely two sips, come on." And when Steve didn't immediately budge, he added, "You can do it, babe, come on."

Too exhausted to feel embarrassed, Steve propped himself up on one elbow and took the glass. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and tossed back the water like it was a shot. Bitterness filled his mouth, made him salivate. He groaned, trying to get rid of the taste before it made him throw up. 

"Hopeless," Danny muttered, but his hand was rubbing small circles into the space between Steve's shoulder blades. 

Steve let himself sink back down, head turned sideways on the pillow so he could peer at Danny. Danny, who gave him a tiny smile and let his hand travel back up into Steve's hair. Steve let out a breath, his stomach settling slightly. 

"What are you doing?" he asked, quietly, like raising his voice above a murmur might scare Danny away. 

In reply, Danny leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Steve's temple. 

"Taking care of my boy," he said, voice equally quiet, smile widening when Steve blinked at him, stunned. 

"I'm not a child, Danny." The dumbest thing to say right now, and Steve had found it without even trying. 

Danny smirked at him. "Oh, believe me, I've noticed."

Steve gave up and closed his eyes. "We will talk about this," he threatened drowsily. The nausea was starting to fade. Between the softness of his mattress and Danny's fingers scratching circles into his scalp, Steve was already half-drifting. 

"Looking forward to it, babe," was the last thing he heard before he finally, blissfully, went to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Only 38 minutes until the end of International Fanworks Day in my time zone (which is giving me flashbacks to a whole other fandom), so I'm glad I got this one in. 
> 
> Concrit, as always, is welcome.


End file.
